


Incubus

by chronicAngel



Series: Concresce [3]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Nightmares, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 01:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15450105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: incubusn. nightmare; burden





	Incubus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikorins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikorins/gifts).



_This shouldn't be happening_ , she thinks, heart pounding in her chest. She's at the back of a screaming crowd and the noise is doing nothing to help her panicking mind. She feels like a broken record, her thoughts playing the same two or three phrases on repeat as she tries to process what, exactly, is happening beyond the fact that it is just _wrong_ , so so wrong.

She pushes past a couple and her chest squeezes painfully until she feels like her heart has stopped and she cannot breathe, her lungs compressed too harshly to hold any air. _Where is Ezreal?_

She forces a deep breath in but it feels like she should choke on it and she almost gags. She does this a few more times until she can pretend that she has composed herself, and then peers around the crowd. The clothing is immediately recognizable as Demacian in style, with clean white and crisp blue clothes highlighted by golden jewelry on women's thin wrists and pieces of silver armor that shimmer on the sunlight covering the shoulders of bigger men who wear severe looks. The scenario does not make sense, though. This is like a riot, a dramatic event one expects to see in the depths of places like Zaun and _Noxus_ , not orderly streets of Demacia.

 _Stop. Focus_. She takes another deep breath and tries to push through the crowd again, and she can almost tune out the angry shouts and cries of outrage the people surrounding her spit toward whatever poor soul is on trial. (It's not a trial, though. It never has been. It's a death sentence. An execution. Every citizen in the crowd knows it.) She can almost treat it as white noise, familiar enough with the angry murmurings of Demacia as a collective whole about magic that she is used to ignoring it. Almost. "Piltover filth. Dunno why King Jarvan expects anything else from a nonsense city like that," someone mutters in disgust, and her heart stutters all over again.

She almost shoves people to the ground in her rush to get to the front now, ignoring curses and surprised exclamations of _Lady Crownguard!_ until there are only a couple of rows of screaming Demacians between her and the defendant.

There is blood on his face, a swollen bruise on one of his cheeks, and she can see his breathing is ragged even as he lays curled up on the ground (she thinks he must have been stomped on by a group before the soldier that looms behind him now found them), but it is still recognizably Ezreal. The glowing marks on his cheeks give it away if nothing else does. The way he cracks one eye open even as it seems like it takes all of the energy he has and grins at her would give it away if even that didn't.

Her stomach lurches, the world moves a foot around her, and she is certain for a moment she is going to throw up. She has never liked seeing Ezreal hurt, but there is something about seeing him like _this_ that makes it feel like the entire sky is collapsing around her and smothering her. Once again, she can't breathe. Once again, her heart has stopped in her chest.

 _This is your fault_ , her mind spits at her eventually. _Ezreal would never have a reason to come to Demacia if it weren't for you. This wouldn't be happening if it weren't for you. You you you. Why couldn't you think of anyone but yourself? Stupid little girl, so in over her own head_. "Stop!" She screams, but she does not know if it is at her own thoughts or at the spitting and yelling people around them. To their credit, a few people do snap their mouths shut, recognizing the authority of a Crownguard even as she struggles to feel like she truly belongs to the house.

Most of them do not. Most of them continue to hurl insults at him, ignoring her altogether. The soldier that looms behind him continues to do so until she steps forward and tries to pull Ezreal into an embrace even as she is hesitant to jar his injuries. "Go join the rest of the crowd, Luxanna," he says, using her first name as though they know each other. She supposes it is a very real possibility, but she does not know his.

"No," she says, and she does not care at all that she is directly rebelling against an authority because she cannot stand by while they execute him for a crime that shouldn't even be a crime.

"Then leave. Go wherever you like, but you cannot stay there."

" _Here_ is where I would like to be," she spits back, and she finally manages to draw Ezreal into her arms. (He is the reason she knows how to argue back.) He winces in pain and then simply lets his head loll against her neck. The breaths that tumble out are warm, but they are not nearly as strong as they should be. They're not as strong as she is used to from him. The soldier speaks again but she ignores him because blood from Ezreal's face drips onto her armor and smears and there are tears filling her eyes even as she is trying to be angry. "You're going to be fine," she says, but it feels painfully close to lying.

She feels strong hands gripping her shoulders and jumps, clutching Ezreal closer as the same soldier from before tries to drag away from him. She knows what is going to happen if he does manage to pry her away. (She knows that he is going to die. She knows that he is eventually going to die no matter how much she clings to his life.) Still, Ezreal's face contorts in pain from the way she jars his ribs while she holds him and without thinking she loosens her grip, which is all it takes for the soldier to rip her away from him, leaving him once more on the ground. "No," she half-cries, half-gasps, reaching her arm out to grab for him again. Someone from the crowd puts a hand on her shoulder with more force than is necessary, clearly trying to hold her back. The soldier unsheathes a large sword typical of military men in their country.

He brings it down as though to cleave Ezreal in half and she screams.

Her eyes snap open and it takes her half a second to register that she is still screaming.

She scrubs furiously at the tears that stream down her cheeks and drags her eyes through the dark to the warm space next to her to make sure that Ezreal is still there, alive and breathing. (To make sure he is still _okay_.) He stares back at her, fear in his eyes. She is so relieved even as she was certain he would be there that she lets out a noise halfway between an exhale and a sob. (She wasn't certain. Not really. She couldn't be after that.)

She's crying in an instant. Tears were already running down her cheeks, but she breaks down into hysteric sobs and relieved gasps and he sits up and wraps his arms tightly around her. "Lux... Lux, what's wrong?" He says, concerned but so gentle. (Concerned but _so real_ , _so alive_.) She can only shake her head and continue to cry into his shoulder, clinging to him as tightly as she can as though when she lets go she will be dragged away again and he will be killed again.

"You... y-you were..." It's as much as she can get out before a sob wracks her body again and she is burying her face in his neck for the image of being closer to him. It takes her a minute to re-learn breathing.

He simply holds her, tired and confused, while she cries and chokes on deep breaths in the attempt to pull herself together. When she starts to come down and is capable of registering it, she feels him running his fingers through her hair and lets out a shaky sigh that might also be a laugh. She is so relieved to have him here. To be in his arms while he brushes strands of light blonde hair behind her ears.

She feels him ghost a kiss against her shoulder and suddenly feels like she can breathe again because it is so _him_. "You're gonna be fine," he murmurs, and she sighs in relief because it does not feel like a lie. (She sighs in relief because if anyone was going to know that she's _not_ fine, not right now, it is Ezreal. She is so tired of people trying to calm her by telling her she's okay.)

She takes a shuddering deep breath and then pulls away to look him in the eyes. He does not try to mask his concern, staring back at her with a naked worry that a proper Demacian would never show. An open expression of fear that shakes her because it is nothing like how she is used to being looked at. (He is not Demacian. He's so much better.) She thinks that she should explain, if only to quell his worries. She should let him know that she is okay (or at least that she will be). She is surprised to find that her voice still warbles with anxiety when she starts, "You were--"

"I know," he cuts her off before she can actually get the words out, and she is equal parts annoyed and grateful. A large part of her is surprised, too. She knows she was screaming aloud when she woke, but she does not remember saying his name even in her dream. She does not have a hard time believing that he simply knows her well enough to know what her nightmares are of, except before it was always her. (She prefers it when it's her. She hates seeing him in pain. She hates the image of him on the ground, bruised and bleeding.) After a minute, slowly and hesitantly, he asks, "Are you... okay?"

"No," she says, quick and honest. (This is strange for her, too. She is not used to such easy admissions. She is not used to being allowed to tell the truth.) They are both quiet for a minute, tiptoeing around explanations and questions so they don't accidentally cross each others' boundaries. "We were in Demacia," she starts eventually, speaking slowly as though she is in the middle of changing her mind. She wants him to know, though. (She needs him to know how much she cares about him. About this.) "And there were people... _screaming_. Hateful comments. About magic. About Piltover."

She stutters for a second, squeezing her eyes shut just to stubbornly fight more tears. She has spent enough time crying. He takes her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "I had to watch you die, Ezreal," she whispers, still afraid. He squeezes her hand.

"I'm right here," he whispers back. "I'm not dead."

 _But he could be_ , her brain screams at her, and she flinches. _He could be and it would be_ your fault. "Can we," she starts, and then lets it die in her throat. She does not want to have this conversation. He is patient with her, but eventually gives a low, questioning hum and she realizes that she has to ask him because she can't risk losing this forever. "Can we keep doing this...?" She asks, and has to hope he understands what she means by that. By the way his expression morphs into hurt, she supposes that he has to. He drops her hand, face falling in time with it.

"What do you mean?" He asks anyway. She suspects he asks it because it is easier than asking if she is breaking up with him. (She's not. She doesn't think she could if she tried. It would be too painful, like cutting off her own leg. She thinks that might be easier. She wouldn't have to see the hurt look in her leg's eyes.)

"I don't... I don't want to be the reason you die some day, Ezreal," she whispers back, and he tenses and loosens all at once, somehow. Like a burden has been lifted from his shoulders but immediately replaced with a new one.

She is startled when he laughs. It changes to distress after a few seconds when he doesn't stop. She stares in horror because she doesn't like the sound of him laughing at her.

"You're an idiot," he says after a minute, the lingering traces of a snicker at the edge of his voice. She scowls at him. She is used to him insulting her, is even used to him saying things much more hurtful than this, but she thinks this is hardly the time. He seems to realize the same thing a moment later and stops, but there are still hints of a smile playing at the corners of his lips so she does not drop her scowl. "When I die, it's not going to be anyone's fault. Unless I do something stupid, I guess, and then it'll be mine. But it _definitely_ won't ever be _your fault_."

"But Demacia--"

"Demacia doesn't have the legal authority to kill one of Piltover's citizens for a crime they technically didn't commit... I think." She almost laughs at that, a single short, startled sound making its way out of her throat before she just stares at him fondly. "I'm pretty sure the most they can do is insistently tell me to leave and not come back. You don't have to worry about me being executed when I come visit you in Demacia." When; as though he has already resigned to this necessity. (Of course he has. They both know she'll have to go back to Demacia once the expedition is officially over and he is too _Ezreal_ to wait months for her to be free to travel to Piltover for any real length of time.)

Still, she smiles weakly in spite of her earlier panic. The image of Ezreal arguing with a soldier of Demacia stationed at the country's border about whether or not his gauntlet is _technically_ magic flashes through her mind and actually makes her snort, and she sees him grin despite the dark. "Vi will kill me if you're executed while visiting me in Demacia." He laughs and her smile becomes a little easier. He leans in and brushes a tired kiss against her jaw and she actually beams, tilting her head just slightly so she can catch his lips for a real kiss.

They stay like that for a minute, kissing in the dark while she can still feel dried tears on her cheeks. He is the one to pull away, laying down again. She lays down with him easily. "She wouldn't, you know. She's too attached to you at this point." She hums, content with this, and tries to force herself to sleep again. (It's not very hard, with him.)

**Author's Note:**

> Their talk ended up going to a really dark place in the first draft of this so I actually re-wrote like, 1k of emotional talk to end it on a lighter note like I had originally intended.


End file.
